The sad hours passed away,—but though he learned from the jailer that his errand had been performed, no Eulalie made her appearance.
"She forsakes me!" he muttered bitterly. "The wounded deer is abandoned by the herd, and an unfortunate man is shunned by his fellows. Well, the dream was pleasant while it lasted—the regret of awakening can scarce be tedious—a few hours, and all the incidents of this transitory life will be forgotten. But Eulalie—whom I loved better than my life itself—it is hard to die without one word from thee."
When on the following day Beauvallon was again taken before the revolutionary committee, he looked anxiously around the court room to see if he could discover the face of Eulalie among the spectators, many of whom were women. But he was disappointed. Her absence convinced him that she had abandoned him, and wholly absorbed by this reflection, he paid no attention to the formula of his trial. He was condemned to death, the sentence to be executed on the following day.
"Mr. President," said he, rising, "I thank you, and I have merely one favor to ask. Anticipate the time of punishment—let it be to-day instead of to-morrow—let me go hence to the scaffold."
"Your request is reasonable," replied the president, in a bland voice, "and if circumstances permitted, it would afford me the greatest pleasure to grant it. But the guillotine requires repair, and will not be in a condition to perform its functions until to-morrow, at which time, Citizen Beauvallon, at the hour of ten, A.M., you will have ceased to exist. Good night, and pleasant dreams!"
This sally was received with roars of applause, and the unhappy prisoner was reconducted to the place of confinement.
That night was a sleepless one. Beauvallon's arrest, his speedy trial and condemnation, the desertion of Eulalie, had followed each other with such stunning rapidity, that, until now, he had hardly time to reflect upon the dismal chain of circumstances—now they pressed upon his attention, and crowded his mind to overflowing. At midnight, as he lay tossing on his bed, upon which he had thrown himself without undressing, he thought he heard a confused noise in the apartment of the next house adjoining his. The noise increased. He placed his hand upon the wall, and felt it jar under successive shocks. Suddenly a current of air blew in upon him, and at the same time a faint ray of light streamed through an opening in the partition.
"Courage!" said a soft voice. "The opening enlarges. Now, Julie!"
Julie! Beauvallon was sure he heard the name, and yet uncertain whether or not he was dreaming.
"Julie!" he exclaimed, cautiously.